


Guide To How Not To Improve Hot Chocolate

by Sororising



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bucky is actually quite sensible, Humor, Library AU, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Sam makes bad decisions when sleep deprived, Steve makes bad decisions when drunk, Trans Steve, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/pseuds/Sororising
Summary: Steve took a sip of the hot chocolate. Sam dialled his horror up a notch. James sighed, very loudly, in a way that Sam sensed he'd sighed many times before.“S'not very nice,” Steve said reluctantly, addressing his drink rather than either of the actual people in the room.“I'm so shocked,” Sam said, in the most deadpan tone he could muster up.“I was tryin’ to prove Bucky wrong,” Steve muttered, barely taking his mouth away from the rim of the mug as he spoke. A little splatter of hot chocolate landed on his nose. Sam decided that was disgusting, and not even remotely cute.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by two things. The first was a comment from Tiarachel on [What We Dreamed Of,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8874169) my AllCaps Christmas flangstuff (that's a word for a fic which is a fluff sandwich with a small layer of angst, I am truly astonished it has not caught on), about a particular incident in that story. The second I will write in the end notes as it's a spoiler. Not that this is the kind of fic where spoilers matter, but it's the principle of the thing.
> 
> One note: to my fellow neuroatypical folks (and anyone else this is relevant to), I know sometimes people have trouble telling when characters are being sarcastic, and it can be especially tricky written down. It's worth remembering throughout this chapter that Sam's POV here is pretty sarcastic. Like probably more often than not, honestly. Sorry if it's confusing, you're always more than welcome to hit me up for clarifications.

* * *

Working the night shift three days a week at the only campus coffee shop open 24-7 wasn’t Sam’s idea of a dream job. 

Except it kind of was, really, at least for right now. He could go to all his classes and still have weekends free to catch up on his work and what was left of his social life.

He maybe had to sacrifice things like a sleep pattern that wasn’t thought up by some sort of demon, sure, but he was managing alright so far. More or less. He’d maybe fallen asleep at work once or twice, but it’s not like anyone cared what the 3am barista was doing with his time, and they could always wake him for their drink.

The door opened, with that irritating little jingle that Sam’s boss had sworn would fade into background noise within a week.

It had not.

Two guys - okay, two people; the first society Sam had joined at college was the GSA, and he’d been working on not gendering people on sight over the past couple months - walked in. 

Well. The first - white, very short, blond hair lying flat on one side of their head and sticking up everywhere on the other side - didn’t so much _walk_ as _stumble._

Oh good. Drunk people. Sam's favourite customers.

He really should cut down a little on the sarcastic internal monologue; he was pretty sure it would start bleeding through into his interactions with customers soon if he didn’t.

“One hot chocolate,” the small person said, very loudly, to the chair they’d decided to lean against. 

The chair started to tip back, and Sam winced, but the second person had already positioned themself in the right place to catch their - presumably - friend, so no-one ended up on the floor.

Yet.

“I’m over here,” Sam said dryly. 

“Focus, Roger,” the second person said, spinning the first - guy, probably, if they were happy to go by a name like that - around to face Sam.

Who the fuck names a child born in this century _Roger?_

“One hot chocolate for - Roger?” Sam asked, deciding that the best course of action would probably be to actually do his job and get the coffee shop empty again.

That just earned him two very blank looks.

“James Pukeanan Barnes,” the tiny guy said, very solemnly, still not looking in the right direction. “You made the lovely barista think my name was _Roger._ You’re such a terrible boyfriend.”

“And you’re a fuckin’ drunk boyfriend,” James muttered, steadying - apparently - not-Roger and pushing him towards the bar.

This was the point where Sam was supposed to say _I’ll take your order over here,_ and move over to the till.

But not-Roger was clinging onto the edge of the bar with both hands, and he looked very much like a drunk person trying to pretend to be stone-cold sober, so Sam decided to have some pity.

“Did you want milk or dark chocolate?” he asked, not bothering to use his regular customer-service voice. It made him sound like a chipper robot, for one thing, and for another he was pretty sure not-Roger was way too out of it to even notice.

“Oh,” not-Roger said. “Um.”

“Steve, you fuckin’ disaster,” James said, sitting in one of the high seats further up the bar, the ones no customers ever sat in because they always ended up getting splashed with coffee grounds or milk at some point. “He’ll have dark chocolate, and don’t go to any effort with it.”

“Right,” Sam said slowly. “There isn’t really a way to fuck up hot chocolate, to be honest. It’s like - chocolate. And milk.”

Steve made a sad noise.

“Oh, yeah,” James said. “He’s lactose intolerant.”

“We have almond milk,” Sam offered. 

Steve made a noise like a kitten that had just had its tail very gently trodden on. Sam decided it should be illegal for people to make noises that level of tragically adorable.

He then decided he really, really needed to sleep. Preferably for fourteen hours, and preferably some time in the next twenty minutes.

“He’s allergic to nuts,” James said, looking sort of half-defiant and half-apologetic at Sam.

Right. “Like, going to die allergic? Because my co-worker has soy milk in the back.”

“I won’t _die,”_ Steve interrupted, sounding insulted at the very thought. “As if.”

“I just don’t want to get my ass sued for using the same steam wand we use for almond milk,” Sam said, looking at James rather than Steve, because he sensed that was the way to get some kind of sensible answer.

One of the unexpected side effects of working here had been to give Sam a very, very good sense of how drunk a person was. 

James looked unsure. “We don’t want to be a bother.” He glanced sideways at Steve, through the long, messy hair that was framing his face in a way Sam’s sleep-deprived brain couldn’t help but think of as unfairly attractive, and Sam guessed that James wasn’t at all convinced that _Steve_ didn’t want to bother anyone.

Sam sighed, very quietly. “It’s fine. I’ll make all the misto drinks tomorrow in return. She’s called Misty, and we have to wear fucking name tags, so everyone always makes dumb jokes when they order one.”

James squinted at Sam’s chest. “Right. Well, sorry again, Sam.”

Sam went to grab the soy milk, wondering if he should really be leaving the two guys alone in the coffee shop for the thirty seconds it would take him to walk to the back fridge.

Once it was finished, the tiny guy - Steve was better than Roger, but it still seemed like such a sensible name for someone so determined to talk to inanimate objects instead of people - moved his hot chocolate along the bar until it was in front of him, somehow without spilling any, then - what the actual _fuck_ -

Then he pulled out a tube of toothpaste from his pocket, and squeezed a generous amount into the mug.

Sam stared in mild horror. 

Two months ago it would have been much stronger than _mild,_ but he’d seen more than a few things since then. Favourite pastimes of college students seemed to include drinking more than someone twice their size could handle, daring each other to do idiotic things like ask Sam to give them a plate of ground coffee beans so they could try snorting them, what the fuck, and picking fights with baristas who very understandably did not want to be arrested for any kind of espresso-related accidental manslaughter.

Steve took a sip of the hot chocolate. Sam dialled his horror up a notch. James sighed, very loudly, in a way that Sam sensed he'd sighed many times before.

“S'not very nice,” Steve said reluctantly, addressing his drink rather than either of the actual people in the room.

“I'm so shocked,” Sam said, in the most deadpan tone he could muster up.

“I was tryin’ to prove Bucky wrong,” Steve muttered, barely taking his mouth away from the rim of the mug as he spoke. A little splatter of toothpastey hot chocolate landed on his nose. Sam decided that was disgusting, and not even remotely cute.

“Are you - um. Bucky?” Sam asked James, who was now leaning his head in his - oh. His hand. Sam blinked quickly, hoping his moment of surprise hadn’t shown on his face. 

“For my sins,” Bucky - was that actually a name? - said, sounding exactly the amount of long-suffering Sam would expect from a guy chaperoning some tiny idiot who decided to do things like waste a perfectly nice hot chocolate by putting toothpaste in it.

“It didn’t work, Buck,” Steve said, resting his nose on his mug. Sam felt his hand twitch - he really wanted to reach out before Steve tipped the whole damn thing into his face, and he was going to tell himself that it was only because he didn’t want to spend ten minutes of his night mopping up yet another spilled drink.

Not because he didn’t want Steve to burn himself. People who committed such grievous sins against hot chocolate didn’t deserve to be protected against minor burns.

“No shit it didn’t.” Bucky looked like he’d passed _at the end of his rope_ about three hours and four drinks - Steve’s, not his - ago. “Who the fuck puts toothpaste in hot chocolate.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one thinking it,” Sam said, not sure why he was still bothering to have this conversation. Boredom drove him to weird things at this place. “I’d hate to be outnumbered by people who thought that was a normal thing to do.”

“Normal’s overrated,” Steve said, looking exactly like the sort of person who _would_ say something like that. Sam had just noticed that a streak of Steve’s hair was dyed green, very badly. “Bucky dared me to.”

“What the fuck,” Bucky said, with an expression that Sam guessed was trying to be outraged. It was more the kind of look you’d give a cute puppy who’d chewed your favourite shoe. Sam’s metaphors got more creative the less REM sleep he got; maybe he should sign up for an English Lit class. “Steve here claimed that you could make peppermint hot chocolate by mixing toothpaste in,” Bucky continued, even though Sam hadn’t done anything at all to indicate that he wanted to hear an explanation. “And he dared himself. I only came with because I didn’t want him to fall into a ditch.”

What the _hell._

Sam really wasn’t getting paid enough for this conversation.

Sam stared very hard at Steve, hoping that he had his most judgemental expression on. He almost definitely did. “Dude. You know we have peppermint extract, right? It’s not even extra.”

“That’s not the point,” Steve said, frowning at Sam like _Sam_ was being the unreasonable one here.

“Oh my god,” Sam said. “I just realised what this conversation reminds me of. This is like when I was trying to tell my niece that you should only put food in your mouth, and she looked all annoyed and then asked what about toothpaste?”

Bucky raised one eyebrow. “And how old is your niece?”

“Four,” Sam said, before realising that comparing your customers to pre-schoolers maybe wasn’t the most professional thing to do. “Sorry, that was kind of rude.”

“It was accurate, is what it was,” Bucky said. “Steve, you’re a child.”

Steve scrunched his nose up. “I can’t believe it didn’t work,” he said, and Sam wondered if Steve was one of the melancholy types of drunk people. Even if he wasn’t usually, he looked like he was headed in that direction now.

“Do you want a coffee while you’re here?” Sam asked Bucky, not really sure why he didn’t want the two of them to leave just yet.

Boredom, that was all. Plus Bucky had the look of someone who desperately needed either caffeine or sleep, which Sam could empathise with. 

“I guess?”

“Don’t have to sound so enthusiastic,” Sam said, already setting up a shot of espresso.

“I could go for a latte or something, maybe.” Bucky still looked uncertain, as though he was being a giant imposition by asking a barista to make him a latte.

That was the opposite of how most of Sam’s customers acted, so it was more refreshing than anything.

“You should do pictures,” Steve said, sticking out his tongue and touching the top of his hot chocolate. He made a disgusted face which he tried to cover up, not at all successfully. A bit like when Sam was twelve and had tried champagne for the first time, wanting to be a grown-up but secretly hating the way the bubbles made his nose feel all tingly.

He should stop comparing his customers to children, probably; but he had to occupy his thoughts somehow.

Sam was very glad he hadn’t bothered to try any foam art in Steve’s hot chocolate, since it would have ended up covered in _toothpaste_ eight seconds later. He still wasn’t over that. Maybe this was just some weird dream. He had no clue what that would say about his brain, though, so he mostly hoped it wasn’t.

“Works better with lattes,” he said, needing to say something to make sure that none of the thoughts in his head could escape. Steve and Bucky didn’t come across like the kinds of assholes that would try to get him fired, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

He didn’t steam the milk carefully enough, so it ended up a little too foamy. He could still draw something, though, he figured, and tried for a wobbly leaf. It ended up weirdly long, and sort of rounded at the bottom, and then Sam’s hand jerked and a couple little white droplets landed at the tip, and -

Oh. Shit.

“That’s a penis,” Steve said blankly, staring into the cup as though it held the secret to all the mysteries of the universe. "Dot gif," he added, pronouncing it with a hard G because _of course._

Sam was so tired right now. He bit his lip hard; he probably shouldn’t be laughing at his customers. Especially since he had a suspicion it would come out a bit more hysterical than he’d want.

Bucky leaned over and hooked a finger around the cup handle, moving it across the bar. “That is indeed a penis,” he said mildly. “Good observation skills, Stevie.”

“Um. Sorry,” Sam said, trying to decide if he was feeling mortified or very, very amused.

“S’okay. I’m alright with putting your dick in my mouth,” Bucky said, and then covered up his absolutely filthy grin by taking a long, slow sip of his latte.

Jesus. Sam was not even remotely awake enough for this.

And he only had himself to blame. He could have just gone with a fucking circle, claimed it was abstract or some shit. His latte art extended to leaves and hearts on his best days. And now dicks, apparently. His boss was going to be so proud of him. He should include it on his resume, really. Boy Scout, track team, not-safe-for-work drink creator.

Erotic beverage maestro?

Genitalia foam artist? Actually, maybe not that last one. That sounded a shade too close to some terrible job on a porn film set that Sam didn't want to think too much about.

“Bucky’s my boyfriend,” Steve said, glaring at Sam.

Sam put his hands up. “Okay, okay. I wasn’t actually flirting,” he said, glancing sideways at Bucky, who still didn’t look any less amused.

Who the fuck would flirt with someone via imbibable dick pics. 

“We’re going to get out of your hair now,” Bucky said, sliding off his chair and reaching across his body with his right arm so he could poke Steve’s shoulder. “I need to sleep at some point this week. Rogers, pay up.”

Steve leaned sideways, and Bucky quickly moved closer - in a movement that looked practiced, Sam couldn’t help but notice - so that he was actually there for Steve to fall into. “Fuck’s sake,” Bucky muttered into Steve’s hair, but Sam was certain that there was the tiniest smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Sam stifled a little twinge inside his chest that absolutely was _not_ jealousy. As if he was going to get jealous over anyone who put toothpaste in hot chocolate. Or - or anyone who dated someone who did that; he wasn’t quite sure which of the two his not-at-all-jealous thoughts had been aimed at, when he thought about it.

Bucky and Steve left, after waving off Sam’s attempts to give Steve change for his twenty. That had been an unexpected bonus of the very weird night, at least, though as Sam tipped the gross hot chocolate - toothpaste was fucking spearmint, not peppermint; he really wished he’d thought of that in time to point it out to Steve - down the sink, he wasn’t sure whether it had been worth it. At least Bucky had had the decency to take his dick-latte with him. Sam was pretty sure it would end up on the ground at some point, especially if Steve kept swaying in weird directions, but at least it wasn’t Sam’s problem anymore.

Anyway. There were a hell of a lot of students in this place. It wasn’t like Sam would ever see either of them again.

Which was a good thing. Really, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The second inspiration. I am also a barista, and a couple weeks ago at work I was making what was shaping up to be a very beautifully-done macchiato, if I do say so myself. Then I made the mistake of attempting to be creative with my foam art. You already know where this is going, don't you. The customer in question was sober and rather elderly, so he did not do a Steve and comment loudly about the penis in his drink. We did make very awkward eye contact, though, which still haunts me. My coworker saw it and helpfully said 'maybe it could be a pear.' 
> 
> It could not have been a pear. Trust me on this. 
> 
> Suggestions for more appalling ideas drunk!Steve might have are very very welcome, as are comments in general. Happy holidays. May your days be merry and your drinks be free from all foam genitals, unless of course you prefer them that way.
> 
> (and you can use a steam wand for all kinds of milk, just have to be careful to make sure it's clean) (oh and sorry if your name is Roger, Sam's just a wee bit grumpy and tired here)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I keep updates at this pace we'll have a great fic by 2020! Sad laughter etc etc etc.
> 
> In which there is gratuitous use of italics, and Sam meets Steve and Bucky again, without any sins being committed against hot drinks.

* * *

Sam was trying very hard to breathe in a normal way, he really was. But the book wasn’t fucking _there._

He looked at the biro scribble on the back of his notepad, just to triple-check. Yeah. He had the code right, and he’d checked that he’d written _that_ down right off the catalogue computers about five times, so. 

Fuck. He hated libraries. Except for how he loved them, really, loved how the college one gave him a place to study - and occasionally nap - away from his roommate, who was a great guy but also very fucking loud.

But right now libraries were his _least favourite thing,_ because the book wasn’t _fucking there,_ and he really didn’t give a shit how dramatic he sounded in his head.

This wasn’t that big a deal, he tried to tell himself. He could probably find a similar book online. Maybe. Or he could ask for an extension. Except for the fact that he’d already asked for one extension this term, for the same professor who he owed this paper. 

Fuck fuck _fuck._

He bit his lip, very hard, and tried to ignore the way his hands were shaking slightly. Thank fuck no-one else was around. He really didn’t want to be known as the freshman who had a panic attack in the library because he couldn’t find the book he wanted. 

He sat down on the nearest kickstool and focused on breathing for about thirty seconds.

“Can I help you?” a very wary-sounding voice asked, from somewhere above him.

Sam decided not to look up. He was just going to pretend no-one else was here. Maybe no-one else _was_ here and he was just hallucinating. He was pretty sure that shouldn’t be preferable to someone seeing him have a small breakdown over a missing library book, but he guessed students have had weirder thoughts.

He worked nights in a campus coffee shop, he _knew_ they’d had weirder thoughts.

“Um,” the voice said. “Sam?”

What.

“No,” Sam said, irrationally, and finally looked up. Oh. It was whathisname. Toothpaste guy’s friend. Boyfriend. Whatever. He decided to just stay silent and hope that the guy magically disappeared after a few seconds. Although now that he thought about it, he did kind of want to know one thing. “You remembered my name?”

Friend-of-toothpaste-guy looked embarrassed. “No, I - yeah. I guess? It’s not exactly a hard one to remember.”

Sam has worked in customer service for a while now, and he was pretty sure that some of his regulars, if asked to describe him, would just say _um, he’s black? And kind of tall?_

He wasn’t going to feel bad for not remembering friend-of-toothpaste-guy’s name, though. He wasn’t going to feel bad for anything, because he was going to fail half his course because of one stupid book. Maybe. Possibly. He might be blowing things a little out of proportion, but he really hadn’t slept enough lately.

“I’m Bucky,” FOTG helpfully offered.”Did you need help?”

Sam finally registered the lanyard around Bucky’s - that was a weird name; Sam could have sworn it was something more normal last time - neck. “Oh,” he said, coherently. “You work here.”

Bucky had some clever-looking sling over his left shoulder with a few books in; Sam guessed it was so he didn’t have to reshelve the books one at a time. He wasn’t about to ask, though.

“I do indeed.”

Sam sighed, and stood up. It was worth a try, right? And he felt like Bucky kind of owed him, after Sam let his drunk boyfriend - Steve-not-Roger, it was all coming back now - desecrate hot chocolate like that. “I’m looking for a book,” he said, trying to keep his hopes at floor level. Underground, even. God, when would his metaphors stop being nonsense? Probably when he slept for longer than five hours at a time.

“No can do,” Bucky said solemnly, and Sam felt a - reluctant - smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “No books here, as you can see.”

“Smartass,” Sam said. “I am looking for a _specific_ book, which I really really need because I can’t afford to buy it and it was supposed to be _right here_ and -”

He stopped to take a deep breath. He was not going to cry over a library book. Even though a significant proportion of his grade depended on the essay that he couldn’t actually write without this book, _fuck._

“Um, okay,” Bucky said, looking slightly alarmed. Good job, Sam, way to be a pain when someone was just doing their job, you of all people know what that feels like. “Well, if it said on the system it was available, probably someone’s been working with it in the library and hasn’t checked it out?”

“Seems like an asshole move.”

Bucky laughed. “It happens pretty often. Not many people are here now, it’s probably in one of the piles I just picked up from the upper floors. You got the number?”

“Ah - yeah.” Sam showed Bucky his notepad.

“Cool. Let’s head over to the sorting room and check.”

“Don’t you have to shelve those first?”

Bucky looked at the books in his shoulder sling as though he’d just remembered they were there. “Nah, not really,” he said. “Morning team’ll do it. I was just giving them a headstart. We close up in like twenty, security’s just going round and making sure everyone’s out.”

Sam followed Bucky to the sorting room and waited outside, still trying very hard to not be hopeful. Bucky came out after only a couple of minutes, waving a book which Sam immediately recognised.

“Oh my _god,”_ he said, much too loudly for a library. “You’re the best. Oh my god. I can write my essay!”

Bucky ducked his head slightly. “No worries,” he said. “Um, I have to go clock out now. And, uh. Steve’s probably waiting for me at the front desk. You should check that out before they switch the issuing machines off.”

Sam clutched the book to his chest, as though some burly security guard was about to swoop down and steal it away again. “Good plan. Seriously, man, thank you.”

Bucky just waved him away, and Sam wasn’t ashamed to admit that he jogged over to the front desk in order to take the book out. He put it in his backpack, silently sending Bucky a thank you again, and headed out the security gate. 

And on the other side, sitting against the wall and writing - no, drawing - in a giant notebook, was Steve.

“Hi again,” Sam said, secretly amused by how confused Steve’s expression was when he looked up.

“You’re not Bucky.”

“Nope,” Sam agreed. “I am not.”

Steve scrambled up, flipping his sketchpad closed and nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so. “Everyone’s supposed to be out already,” he said, frowning at Sam.

“I was with Bucky,” Sam said. “Emergency book hunt.”

Steve just frowned some more. “I know you,” he said, staring at Sam with a weirdly intense expression. Sam noticed that the green streak in Steve’s had faded, but not enough to be blonde again. It kind of looked grey, if anything.

“I work at the coffee shop by the SU?”

Bucky walked up just then. “Hey,” he said to Steve, and nodded at Sam. “Let’s head home. You get much work done?”

Steve shrugged. Bucky sighed. Sam felt like he really wanted to be some place else.

“I was giving out stickers,” Steve said, before turning to Sam. “Do you want one?”

Sam blinked. “Ah. What are they of?”

Steve peeled one off. RESPECT PRONOUNS, it said in large block letters. 

“Oh, sure,” Sam said, sticking it on his backpack. “Good message.”

Steve looked pleased, which made Sam wonder if that had been some kind of weird test. 

“What are yours?” Steve asked as the three of them left the library. Sam shivered; it hadn’t been that cold today but the wind was up and he had a fairly long walk back to his dorm ahead of him.

“Hm?”

“Your _pronouns,”_ Steve said impatiently. “Bucky’s fine with he or they. Mine are he, him, his. Etcetera.”

Sam was pretty sure he’d never heard anyone say the word _etcetera_ out loud in real life. “Um. He and him for me as well,” he said, trying not to make it sound like a question.

They were all walking in the same direction, which was kind of awkward. Sam wondered if maybe they even lived in the same halls; he hadn’t had a chance to meet that many people yet.

“Good to know,” Steve said. “Oh _fuck.”_

“What,” Bucky said, sharp and inflectionless. “Steve? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s _wrong,”_ Steve said, looking down at the ground and walking slightly faster. “I just, um.” He mumbled something which Sam didn’t catch but which Bucky must have done, judging by his laugh. 

Bucky glanced back at Sam, smiling widely. “He remembered what happened the other week with the hot chocolate.”

Sam grinned back. “Oh yeah. That was an interesting night.”

“This is us,” Bucky suddenly said, stopping outside the cheapest student accommodation block on campus. The one with asbestos rumours. The one which was supposed to be temporary back in the sixties. 

“Right,” Sam said, giving the two of them an awkward little wave. “I’m - further on. See you around, I guess?”

“Sure,” Bucky said, still laughing at Steve, who was walking away fast muttering something along the lines of _so embarrassing, can’t believe you let me…_ “See you around, Sam.”

“Thanks again for the book!” Sam called out as Bucky was turning away. 

Bucky looked back and gave a quick thumbs up. Sam waved one more time and then decided to run the way of the way back; it was getting cold and he needed to at least start his essay. Or sleep. Ideally both. Ah, the joys of student life.

He had a small smile on his face though, despite the chill in the air. He really hadn’t been expecting to see either of those two again, and now that he has he can’t help but hope he’ll run into them again. Which was kind of weird, maybe, but he wasn’t going to question it too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will make no promises about the next update, but I hope you liked this one! Comments of course are always amazing. (I messed up the tenses really badly and hopefully fixed, if there are errors still apologies.)


End file.
